Chapter 7 - The Shadow Between Them

 

The morning light made everything look honest, which felt cruel.

Aaliyah sat in her office, back straight, pen poised above a half-finished note she could not bring herself to write. The words blurred. Her handwriting looked foreign, like someone else’s hand had tried to impersonate her calm.

The session before this had gone fine. Surface-level problems. Predictable tears. She said all the right things, used the right tone, even smiled at the right moments. No one noticed that her mind was elsewhere.

It had been two days since the trail. Two days since Dwayne looked at her and told her the truth like it was a gift. She had not seen him since, had not expected to, and yet the memory lingered like smoke she could not wash off.

Her phone buzzed on the desk.
Dwayne Walker.

She froze, then reached for it.

Dwayne: You still think about it?

Her stomach tightened.

They had messaged before, but this was the first time since the meetup. The first time since he confessed.

She hesitated, then typed slowly.

Aaliyah: Dwayne, this isn’t an appropriate channel for communication. Are you safe?

A minute passed. Then another.

Dwayne: Safe enough. Just can’t stop replaying it.

Her pulse quickened.

Aaliyah: What are you replaying?

Dwayne: The look on your face. When I told you.

She locked the screen, heart pounding.

The next patient was due any minute. Her reflection in the window looked almost convincing, but her eyes gave her away.

Across town, Dwayne stood at the edge of a rooftop parking lot, wind cutting against his face. The city hummed below, steady and indifferent.

He had been waiting.

The text he sent was not just about her. It was a test. He needed to know if she would still answer after what he told her.

She had.

That should have been enough. It was not.

A car door slammed behind him. He turned.

Marcus walked toward him, phone in one hand, eyes sharp.

“You been ignoring my calls?” Marcus asked.

“I’ve been thinking,” Dwayne said.

“That’s never a good sign.”

Marcus stopped beside him, looking out at the skyline. “You look worse than usual.”

“I told her,” Dwayne said quietly.

“Told her what?”

“The truth.”

Marcus frowned. “About what?”

Dwayne looked at him, steady and unblinking. “About what happened at MIT.”

Marcus froze. “What happened at MIT?”

For a moment neither of them moved. The air between them thickened.

Dwayne’s voice was calm, but his eyes were distant. “The man who hurt my sister. The one who walked around like nothing happened. He didn’t make it to graduation.”

Marcus stared at him, disbelief flashing across his face. “You’re saying you…?”

Dwayne did not look away. “I made sure he never touched anyone again.”

The silence that followed was absolute.

Marcus stepped back once, shaking his head. “You’re telling me you killed someone?”

Dwayne’s jaw tightened. “I’m telling you I did what had to be done.”

Marcus ran a hand over his face, pacing now. “Jesus, D. Do you even hear yourself? You could have gone to prison. You still could.”

“Maybe,” Dwayne said. “But I don’t regret it.”

Marcus stopped pacing. “You’re serious.”

“Dead serious.”

Something in Dwayne’s tone had shifted. There was no self-loathing this time, no hesitation. Only quiet certainty.

Marcus exhaled hard. “And now you told your therapist?”

“She knows.”

“And you trust her?”

Dwayne looked out over the city. “I don’t know yet.”

Marcus shook his head, frustrated. “You’ve changed, man. This isn’t you.”

Dwayne turned toward him, voice low. “You’re right. It’s not.”

Marcus frowned. “Then who the hell is it?”

Dwayne smiled faintly, but it did not reach his eyes. “Someone who’s done being afraid.”

The words hung there, sharp and heavy.

Marcus hesitated. “Afraid of what?”

“Of losing control. Of being hunted. Of letting other people decide how my story ends.”

Marcus did not know what to say. Dwayne’s calm was unnerving, too measured, too controlled.

Dwayne stepped closer, his tone almost quiet. “I know someone’s watching me.”

Marcus blinked. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know who yet,” Dwayne said. “Could be Sienna. Could be someone working for her. Either way, I feel it. Every time I leave the house. Every time I turn on my phone. The silence doesn’t feel empty anymore.”

Marcus’s voice dropped. “And what are you planning to do about it?”

Dwayne looked at him, the faintest spark of confidence in his eyes. “Stop waiting for the next hit.”

Marcus’s brow furrowed. “You mean—”

“I mean I’m done playing defense.”

He turned toward the edge of the roof, watching the sunlight creep across the skyline.

“I’ve spent months cleaning up messes I didn’t make. Letting people control me through fear. That ends now.”

Marcus stared at him, half afraid, half impressed. “You really mean this?”

Dwayne nodded slowly. “I do. And I need you to trust me.”

Marcus studied his face for a long time. “I don’t even recognize you anymore.”

“Good,” Dwayne said. “That means it’s working.”

He looked down at the streets below, eyes sharp, steady, alive.

“She thinks she’s in control,” he said quietly, “but she’s not. Not anymore.”

Marcus crossed his arms. “Then what’s the plan?”

Dwayne’s expression hardened. He met Marcus’s gaze, calm and direct.

“We find Sienna, and we see how deep of a hole I’m in,” he said. “Then we decide what to pull out, and what we bury.”

Marcus studied his face for a long beat, the worry in his eyes mixing with something like resolve.

“You sure about this?” Marcus asked.

Dwayne nodded slowly. “I have to be. I can’t keep pretending I don’t know what I’m capable of. If she’s playing a game, I want to know the board.”

Marcus ran a hand over his face, then let out a long breath. “All right. We do it your way. Careful. No hero moves unless you tell me first.”

“No hero moves,” Dwayne said. “Just the truth, and whatever it takes.”

They stood there a moment longer, watching the city wake up below them, two friends on the edge of something that would either save them or destroy them.